It was heretowards the back in the oldCatholic area of theSlaughter House whereour Christmas legends and truths of Klong Toey began.It was here that the parentstaughtchildren their prayers andeach Christmas, every child learned again of our Christmas legends and truths. “Back in the day.”

Long ago, a very poor couple came into the village. They were strangers to all. The lady, beautiful and radiant, rode in a wooden-wheel cart with her husband leading the cart's oxen. She was nine months pregnant, but she appeared to be happy and serene, smiling at everyone. Her husband asked permission from the village elder to enter and visit the church. The husband's accent sounded foreign and no one could identify its origin.

The husband said that he and his wife were on their way to a small town called Bethlehem. He thought he could get good directions from the church. Said his name was Joseph; his pregnant wife was Mary. He spoke of how angels, shepherds and fishermen would one day soon become disciples, and of how there would be much joy, but also suffering.

She's a gentle mum, an Auntie Mum who is now of an auntie age. For 64 years she has lived in our Klong Toey slum. Her name is Pu Glin, a common name from days gone by. It means the fragrant aroma of sweet flowers.

Alongside her is a motley cast of characters: older sister Slum Mean; daughter Sweet Sixteen; son loopy from drugs; Man with Broken Head from a couple of broken beer bottle incidents.

And so it begins, a story pretty typical of the Klong Toey slumAuntie Mum's ex-husband -- the broken-head guy with scars from two smashed beer bottle incidents -- is still around here somewhere, even though he was chased off not long ago. Sweet Sixteen daughter sees him now and then.

Stumbling around as he does, he's easy to spot. He stumbles about on a gimp leg, like he's going to fall over any time he walks. Apparently there was a motorcycle accident way back when and the leg never healed, but that has never hindered his drinking.

Broken Head isn't real bright; he was stupid enough to lose Sweet Sixteen's Auntie Mum and, long before that, her elder sister Slum Mean. Really "double dog stupid" as the old expression goes. But then again, you could say Auntie Mum was "double dog lucky" to finally get rid of him.

For a week this guy hadn't stumbled home hammered late at night. No doubt he was hammered; he just hadn't returned home. So Auntie Mum asked Slum Mean to come and stay with herself, Sweet Sixteen and her son, who's always a bit loopy on drugs. Living with them were eight cats and 10 dogs. But the shack is large enough and the cats and dogs stay mostly outside -- unless one of them is sick. And that's often a problem, you see. Auntie Mum's pack of dogs is always growing and one or a few are usually sick or abandoned or kicked around with nowhere to hide.

So Auntie Mum keeps adopting more strays. Oddly enough, these strays hang around but don't fight or bark much. It's as if they recognise and appreciate any help they are given. In that way, you might say, they fit right in with the Klong Toey slum.

Then you have the cats. They, too, come around when they are sick. But cats being cats, they get healthy and move on. Eventually they might get sick or beat up again, and they will return briefly. But, in short, there isn't much fighting or noise at the shack. At least not from the cats and dogs. Auntie Mum's shack remains more of a home than a hospital to them. It's a relatively quiet and respectful place.

That is, until Broken Head finally stumbled back. With Slum Mean older sis in the shack, there was no longer room for him. Besides, the dogs never liked him. Snarled and growled at him. But they were nothing compared to Slum Mean, who had it in for him. She remains deeply insulted from long ago when they had briefly lived together. Story goes that one night he invited a working girl into their shack and, well, that marked the first time Slum Mean cracked him on the head with a beer bottle.

The second beer bottle incident occurred just a couple weeks ago when Auntie Mum didn't have the heart to throw him out. Why she ever took him in at all is one of those slum mysteries you can never solve. But I do know that he sweet-talked her and lied to her about liking cats and dogs.

That living arrangement was doomed from the start. He was mean to Auntie Mum's strays, he drank daily and refused work. Worse, Sweet Sixteen was afraid of him. Then, final straw, he kicked Auntie Mum's favourite dog and proceeded to slap Auntie Mum because she refused to give him beer money.

With what little money she had, Auntie Mum had planned to buy leftovers from the fresh market for a couple of very sick dogs. That was the money Broken Head wanted for beer. Auntie Mum, who is usually gentle and accommodating, threw an absolute fit. The dogs began howling. Slum Mean heard the howls and came running from a nearby noodle shop. She grabbed a beer bottle and cracked him on the head, breaking the bottle and sending him flying. Blood and shards of broken glass were everywhere.

"I dare you to call the police," Slum Mean shouted at him. Broken Head cowered and ran for cover. And that was the end of that.

You need to know that Auntie Mum is one of the most gentle and finest ladies you could ever meet. High class really. Just don't insult her or fritter away her money when she needs it to feed her family of cats, dogs and people.

Auntie Mum doesn't ask for anything. She says that she has all she needs. We did buy her a charcoal burner, but she doesn't want propane gas for it. Too complicated, she says, and, besides, who would carry the gas canisters when they need changing?

More importantly, the eight cats love to curl up on top of the gas canister. She's afraid that one cat or the other would hit something and turn on the gas tank. Also, her son, who remains a bit loopy from drugs, might light his cigarettes with a gas burner. He could forget to turn it off and it only takes one spark to torch a shack. And the shack next to it and one next to that.

This son of hers has been on drugs for a long time, so we won't say much about him. As long as the police and the neighbours don't see him as a problem and don't bother him, then we don't bother him either. As loopy and tilted as he may be, he makes sure none of the drugs fall into the hands of kids. Strange but true.

Auntie Mum's eight cats and 10 dogs are not of the cuddly and sweet variety you see in newspapers and on the telly. When they come to her, they are usually sick and often hungry. They have no pedigree papers. They were never showcased in a fancy store. But so what? Papers are just paper, Auntie Mum says, and paper doesn't make a cat or dog any better or worse.

But all of her cats and dogs have names -- real Thai dog and cat names. Like Ghern (silver money), Goldie or the verb "Me" (to bring), so that when you call them by their names they will bring gold and silver and good luck. That's the idea, at least.

Auntie Mum's shack is in the Nong Mai neighbourhood of the Klong Toey slum, right under the expressway. She's lived there for more than 40 years.

Originally from Nong Khai, she was born in a nondescript village on the banks of the Mekong, bordering Laos. But she is literate. Went to school, finishing Grade 4, as was the requirement back then.

She stopped in at Mercy today, just before it rained. She needed her monthly dole of 370 baht. It helps buy the charcoal she uses instead of propane gas. Also, the Klong Toey elderly women's group charges her an "offering" of one baht per day. Everyone in the group pays it, she says. It's a daily contribution to a Klong Toey senior citizens "after-you-die" fund. This way even the poorest of the poor die with sufficient to receive cremation prayers at the temple.

As for food, a neighbour who became a temple lady and frequently fasts (according to the lunar calendar) receives donated food each morning leftover by the monks from the temple. She shares this with Auntie Mum.

But Auntie Mum doesn't own a fridge, so the food she saved from yesterday has often rotted by the next morning. Not even the cats will eat it. However, the dogs made quick work of it. "Dogs will eat anything," Auntie Mum says.

With big refrigerators and everything, Auntie Mum says that only the rich can choose what kind of food they would like to eat and when they would like to eat it. But if you are poor, and you care for eight cats and 10 dogs, temple food is just about the finest cuisine you can find in Klong Toey. Better even than the noodle shops and cart vendors, she says.

Today, after 71 years of hard living, she has two teeth left. But they are nice-looking teeth, she says, opening her mouth and wanting you to see.

She goes to the doctor regularly, once a month or so. He gives her medicine for blood pressure, but she doesn't know if the pressure is high or low. Also, her knees ache when it's cold outside. No prescribed medicines needed for that, she says. A shot of local whisky numbs the pain.

So, whether you are from uptown or downtown, if you are passing Klong Toey on the expressway, drop in. We'll introduce you. With Auntie Mum's permission, you could maybe feed her cats and dogs and even meet her older sister and daughter of Sweet Sixteen.

However, you'll probably not see the broken-head guy. He wised up. Today he finally knows his place -- and it's not in Auntie Mum's crowded shack.

Around 450,000 people of Thailand’s population were living with HIV in 2016, with 6,400 people dying of AIDS related illnesses. After sub-Saharan Africa, Asia Pacific is the region with the largest number of people living with HIV, with Thailand accounting for approximately 9%.

Today we join with our network of friends, organisations, communities and staff to acknowledge the tremendous progress made over the years to help end HIV/AIDS, with the goal to achieve the UNAIDS 90/90/90 target by 2020. Today in Thailand 91% of adults aged 15-59 are aware of their HIV status, of those 75% are on HIV treatment, of which 79% have attained viral suppression.

The theme for Worlds Aids Day 2017 is “My Health, My Right” promoting access to high-quality, safe, effective and affordable health care and wider set of rights, such as healthy working and living conditions, adequate sanitation and housing, access to nutritious food and justice.

“HIV means you’re more likely to live in poverty, more likely to have poor mental health, less likely to have access to adequate nutritional food, less likely to access medical care, and less likely to understand and assert your rights. We here at the Mercy Centre continue to fight but our fight is not just about the virus. Ignorance, discrimination and isolation limits opportunities to fully participate, preventing them from living full and happy lives. AIDS will only be overcome by our brothers and sisters who have it, they must lead the way, and we must listen and act. We all need to unite to help end the stigma, end discrimination, end HIV transmission and end the isolation felt by people living with HIV, for good. Each one of us can make a difference, so we must open our hearts and ears, as they say - a thousand candles can be lit from one single candle.” Father Joe, Director, HDF Mercy Centre

The Mercy Centre will continue to raise awareness of the role each individual and our communities play in preventing the spread of HIV. We will continue to distribute free condoms, promote free HIV testing and encourage people and their partners to know their status. We will continue to strive to educate, support and care for those infected with the support of their families and community. We will continue to advocate on the behalf of the people living with HIV/AIDS for improved health, social and economic outcomes. We will strive to end the stigma, discrimination and isolation encountered by people living with HIV/AIDS. We all benefit from a healthier and safer community.

"The heroes and heroines, the little old lady from the village who fetched soup for the sick…there were no nurses, no doctors and no hospital treatment in years past…as Elton John’s song goes:

And it seems to me you lived your life Like a candle in the wind Never knowing who to cling to When the rain set in And I would have liked to know you But I was just a kid Your candle burned out long before Your legend ever did

On this day, we here at Mercy Centre remember all those whom have lost their lives to AIDS and honour those working together to stop the disease. We honour the caregivers, families, communities, staff and volunteers for their dedication, compassion and tireless effort over the years. We are all the better for it.” Usanee, HIV/AIDS Outreach, HDF Mercy Centre

He's 10 months old now, Master Tack. Happy, good-natured, smiles a lot, not afraid of stray cats and scavenger dogs. They like him; he likes them. It all works out. At night he doesn't cry. You'd love him. A great baby. Well, not totally "great" just yet, but give him time. He will grow up to be one of Klong Toey's finest. Just watch.

Already he has come a long way from his asphalt roots. Born right on the side of our main Klong Toey street. The old beggar guy, a familiar Klong Toey face with a dodgy leg, caught Tack's mum before she hit the ground -- snagged her just as she was collapsing and moved her to safety.

The beggar guy rents a junk-collecting cart for 10 baht per day and was perfectly positioned for the catch. Khun Gal-long, Klong Toey's oldest Down's syndrome guy at 50 years of age, happened to be helping the beggar guy push his three-wheeled cart. He got the assist. He blew his whistle non-stop.

The collapsing pregnant woman's name is Miss Bua Lueng, which means "Temple Lotus". The name is significant because her own mum, an orphan and slum urchin, had abandoned her at birth. Ran from the hospital. Asked a girlfriend to bring her street clothes, and then waited for the new night shift nurse to come on duty. She told the nurse she was going to the bathroom. She changed into her street clothes, combed her hair and slipped out a side door.

According to custom, hospitals automatically name unregistered newborns. So, 17 years before giving birth in the middle of a street, the pregnant mum had been blessed with the beautiful name Miss Bua Lueng.

The only prayer her mum could halfway recite was the Catholic "Hail Mary" learned from a girlfriend. She liked the words -- at least the ones she could remember. So she whispered them and proceeded to ask the Virgin Mary to please understand her difficulties and "please, please, please find someone to care for my baby. I'll be back. I promise."

She kept her word. After a long and lonely year, she found herself. Time and maturity can do that when firing on all cylinders. Mum deeply regretted running away from her child, and during that long year she had teamed up with two old girlfriends, got a job and moved into a rented flat in Klong Toey. That's when word got back to her that her one-year-old baby was in the children's ward with Public Welfare.

Although she had been an orphan mum, she had the required documents and agreed to a DNA test that together proved her maternity. Several visits later she had fallen head over heels in love again with her daughter. Public Welfare agreed to give her back her daughter but with these stern warnings: Raise her with love and care. Do not abandon her again. Ever.

And so it was. Mum never remarried and was afraid to do so. The thought that a man might be cruel to her child was an unthinkable compromise. So she raised her solo, as best as she could. The two of them survived on her cleaning lady's salary and occasional money from washing dishes at a local noodle shop. Although Mum was Klong Toey poor, she was a decent parent with a wealth of love to give.

Daughter Miss Bua Lueng attended a local government school, and she did well enough in her grades. Well enough, that is, until drugs nearly destroyed her. She had met this scum of a boy who beguiled her with promises and flattery. Fell head over heels in love with him -- maybe puppy love but love nevertheless. She would leave home each morning in her school uniform, but then skip all her classes to hang out with this scum and his friends.

She was nearly 18 but not yet streetwise enough to see the lies of the scum boy. He convinced her that her mum was dumb. "Dok Train" as we say in Thai, meaning she had "fallen off the train". So she became embarrassed of her lowly cleaning lady mum and eventually refused her authority. No "Dok Train" mum should treat her like a child.

The scum boy sweet-talked Miss Bua Lueng into trying drugs. And he told her that if they had a baby together, she could sell the baby without ever having to care for it. As if that was the easy and best thing for her. He even bought her the expensive mobile phone that "Dok Train" mum could never afford. But he made her promise to pay him back. Easy payments, he said.

No cash. Just some black market employment. Illegal and dangerous, but cash free. Told her she was pretty and could be "for sale -- a gun for hire". She liked the sound of that. Thought it was a funny joke.

She left her mum's rented shack and moved in with this scum and a couple of his cronies. They all promised her that none of them had HIV-Aids. After she got pregnant, they said she was stupid for getting pregnant and scum boy gave her money to buy abortion pills. Called her water buffalo. He wanted little to do with her.

She never took those abortion pills. Instead she tried to eat food that she thought her baby in her tummy would like. The scum told her to get out, she had no more value to him.

Miss Bua Lueng knew she could go back to her mum, but she never did. Too embarrassed. And she suspected her mum would be ashamed of her. She couldn't sleep at the bus stops because the authorities would see that she was pregnant and take her to a government home. She didn't want that. Was too proud. And so she was homeless with nowhere safe to lay her head for a long while.

At least until that afternoon on Klong Toey's main street.

She was begging from the old beggar guy with the three-wheeled push cart, asking him to buy her a 12-baht bowl of instant noodles. She told him that the baby in her tummy liked instant noodles. That's when the world began to look fuzzy. She moaned and cried loudly in birth pain. Her water broke.

She grabbed the side of his rickety cart and collapsed like a cheap folding chair. Beggar guy caught her, carried her a couple of steps from the traffic, and lowered her gently to the ground.

Not in a million years should she have been there. She should have been in a nice clean hospital bed. Or at least in her rented flat with Mum. But those days were all but gone now.

The only person on the planet she had was her mum, but they weren't on speaking terms. Although they saw each other occasionally, they hadn't talked in months. Mum silently cried to herself each time she saw her daughter. But she thought saying anything would only make matters worse.

You see, early in her pregnancy, Miss Bua Lueng had gone to prison for three months. She'd taken the rap for scum boy's drugs. Confessed that she was the owner of the drugs. Even though the police knew she was innocent, what could they do? She had the drugs and offered up a confession.

Pregnant Miss Bua Lueng had not seen her mum during the month that she had been free from prison.

Mum didn't know for sure that her daughter was pregnant, but she suspected. That afternoon, coming home from her cleaning job and stepping off the baht bus in front of the ice factory, she heard the cries of a familiar voice. She rushed towards a gathering crowd. And there she saw her. Miss Bua Lueng, her daughter. Giving birth right there in the street.

Instinct took over. She joined the other women. In no time Master Tack was born, healthy and strong. Mum rode with the ambulance and her daughter and new grandson to the hospital. Meanwhile, some of the ladies lit joss sticks for the spirits, and then cleaned the area, shooing away the stray dogs.

They took what was left over and all that was revered as sacred, and they buried it piously under a nearby large tree.

At the hospital the ambulance guy (who was well known there in the emergency room) vouched for everyone: baby, mother and grandmother. The ambulance guy said the grandma was a cleaning lady who lived in Klong Toey and this was her family.

There is so much more of this story to tell you, but in short ...

The police caught the lying boyfriend and the cronies who had used, abused, dumped and, in effect, convinced Miss Bua Lueng to take the rap for them. The police caught them with a sack full of drugs.

They will be in prison for many years. Our Klong Toey police do not like these lowlifes who use women. They say it gives the slum a bad name.

The beggar man still pushes his three-wheeled cart. The Down's Syndrome man still blows his whistle, directing traffic all ways. Or whenever he feels his whistle is needed.

Some say it wasn't fair to Master Tack, being born that way. No dignity.

But sometimes you need to look twice. Reconsider everything you've witnessed. Maybe there was great dignity in all of it. Women there knew what to do. They did not let anyone near the birthing mum. They protected the area and delivered new life unto Klong Toey. They were fierce loyal, the closest thing to "snarling" you could imagine. Stay away, don't interfere.

No one dared to cross them.

Someone brought clothing. Someone else brought bottles of drinking water. They made a birthing room right there on the street. Used Miss Bua Lueng's flip-flops for a pillow and delivered the baby outside of harm's way. They cleaned Master Tack with bottled water and swaddling him in borrowed clothes.

That's what you do in the slums. You make do with what you have. Sometimes it works.

Today the grandma is still a cleaning lady, but she has been promoted.

Daughter Bua Lueng was doing well. Then she slipped. Drugs. Not every day, but whenever she could hustle some cash. She dumped this new guy. Drugs also. No regular job. Nobody wants to hire someone covered with prison tattoos and a known drug history.

So it's her mum who takes her for her prenatal check-ups as Bua Lueng is pregnant again.

Street-born Baby Tack is great. He's got a granny who loves him, and a mum, who has moved back in with her mum and helping with her cleaning job, and is trying to stop drugs. She loves her son, more even than drugs.

Tack will grow up to be one of Klong Toey's finest. I know it. Give him time. Just watch.

She's a slaughterhouse kindergarten teacher. Her whole life through and through. And her husband was a boy who grew up just over the footbridge crossing the canal to the other side, next to the temple. And her face becomes more beautiful day by day. Serene might be a better word. Her whole life of 48 years. She has been teaching slaughterhouse kindergarten children since her middle teens.

One day, more than 30 years ago, the "junk lady" (collector of second-hand saleables) was there with her three-wheel cart and she gladly gathered all the empty beer bottles and whisky glasses. We all swept the floor, cleaned the place best we could, the kids and mums helping. Our teacher, then a teenager, was there. Her arthritic rheumatism came later. We began school that very day. From a beer hall and worse to a kindergarten for slum slaughterhouse kids.

Oh boy, what a story. Back in the day, this particular shack, large enough, had been abandoned for a couple months, ever since the senior Catholic ladies had put their foot down.

"We are a slaughterhouse slum and our men butcher pork and cattle and water buffalo, and we wash the entrails, but we have our religion and have honour and dignity," said one Catholic lady.

"We will not have a beer hall and worse, with all its cavorting around, in the midst of our community. If our men go there, they need not come home. They can sleep in the pig pens."

With this grandmum slum-type closure, the proprietors -- two local lads -- huffed and puffed, but bravado can last only so long in the face of your grandmums who raised you.

The 78-year-old grandmums had threatened their grown grandsons (the beer hall proprietors) with small bamboo sticks, twigs really. And who would dare defend himself against a grandmum hitting him with a small stick because he had opened a house of ill repute?

And when she's hitting you over the head with her twig, and drops it, she tells you to pick it up and give it back to her so that she can keep hitting you. You pick it up and give it back to her, with her voice ringing in your ears: "How dare you embarrass me in front of all my friends. Shame on you."

In the few months when the beer hall was abandoned, a destitute mum, on the run from her cruel husband, had moved in. She drank rainwater collected from the tin roof, and ate whatever food she could scavenge and cook up from leftovers after the butchering. The neighbouring women were also good to her.

Her three kids had moved in with their mum among the trash and empty bottles. The two older ones had never gone to school and the youngest had nightmares about his mum screaming and crying as she ran from a young foreign man swearing and cursing. He had a long beard.

The grandmums had pronounced by edict that the beer hall was now closed. "We shall open a kindergarten. A school."

The mum with the three kids could live there for a while. Help keep everything clean and look after the place at night. Her two oldest children would attend the temple school across the canal. The youngest didn't have to pay kindergarten fees. All the other children had to pay one baht per day to attend school including lunch. The homeless mum could also help cook the rice.

Our teacher was and is one of the not very many slaughterhouse ladies who could read and write fluently all those years ago. She liked books and studying. Strangely, her handwriting is not only legible but also neat and tidy, even today. She also liked to draw but that went off the tracks when she got crippled with rheumatoid arthritis. She didn't know the cause of that, but nor did the doctors.

True, when she was 12 years old and crossing the street, she was hit by a truck delivering pigs arriving daily from a countryside farm. She took a good knock on the head and woke in the hospital with her loving daddy hovering over her, saying his rosary. He had been weighing the morning shipment of pigs when he heard the news and raced to the hospital.

The medical folk could find no bones broken, so they sent her home. The emergency room was crowded and they were short of beds in the charity ward of the government hospital.

She says some four years later, when she was sweet 16, her bones and joints began to ache -- and it got worse. Again, no one knows how it began. Perhaps when she banged her head in the accident. She was the youngest rheumatoid arthritis patient the medical people had ever seen, so they experimented on her with every medicine available.

Her mum, a northeastern country lady from near the border with Laos, tried every herbal remedy, talked to every village "doctor" she could meet. Nothing really worked. But mum, as she says, in her village travels, did find some excellent type of betel nut to chew, so not all was lost. And all the while dad worked, butchering pigs night after night, and gave all his wages to mum for their daughter's medicine.

Now, at 48, she still aches, walks with sort of a sideways gait, but doesn't complain much. Life goes on. Crippled, she teaches sitting down, the kids love her, and her school thrives. More kids came, another teacher came. Crippled Lady Teacher (that's what the kids call her) is still teaching daily and had been happily married for 18 years until the accident on the gang plank.

She met a young man who was as strong as a water buffalo, or even stronger as the children say, and they fell in love. She also taught him how to read and write his name. He loved her dearly, and they lived together 18 years. A big strapping gentleman, he told her daily how he loved her and felt sorry for her, and would always be there, and would never walk away from her.

Often they would go to places together, and when she felt tired he would simply carry her. She said it looked funny and people would laugh, but he always said: "Let them laugh. Who cares? Besides, they are jealous that they don't have a beautiful wife like I do."

He did leave. She still cries herself to sleep, alone on a late night. It broke her heart. She laments: "Now I have no one. I am all alone." She lost him. It was raining. He slipped on a wet gang plank carrying a 100-kilo sack of rice up into the hold of an old cargo ship docked in Klong Toey. That was three years ago. She still sleeps with his picture next to her bed.

He died tragically. Slipped on that wet gang plank with the heavy sack of rice crashing down on him. He was Buddhist and a shirt-tail relative of the abbot, so they did their very special best they could for him. The whole community came. Buddhist and Catholic and Moslem. And her dad, being Catholic, couldn't become a monk for the day. They had no children, so she put aside being Catholic for a month, put on the white robes of a Buddhist nun in prayer and fasting, but said her rosary every night that her beloved husband who loved her so much and felt sorry for her would rest in peace.

A couple of his drinking friends said they saw his ghost near the gang plank, going up into that cargo ship, and he was happy with the temple prayers, but you never know about these things. A cousin became a monk for one day -- in front of the body for his best friend.

Her dad, Khun Pre-cha Wong Rung, was the only son of Ms Gim Gee, a woman of Chinese origin who was in the Catholic convent for a while some 65 years ago. Mother Superior told her to become a teacher as she had that special gift. "You do not have the gift to be a sister with us, but you can become a great teacher of the poor, especially slum kids in your neighbourhood. My prayers and blessings go with you," she said.

Former novice Ms Gim Gee returned to slaughterhouse catholicity and her family. Married an elderly Chinese gentleman, but he died a few years later in her arms. Although he didn't intend it, but she did, they had a son. But Chinese granny speaking broken Thai wanted her son to be a teacher. He couldn't as he didn't have the brain power.

So he "did" pigs for some 30 years until his back gave out and he became a watchman. He didn't drink too much except for an occasional shot in the morning in his coffee with a raw egg mixed in to get him going.

And his Crippled Lady Teacher daughter? It took three generations. Granny failed, her son just couldn't make it intellectually, but his daughter became the best of all teachers on the planet, or at least in the slaughterhouse. She wants to teach forever. She rides to school each day, sitting side-saddle on a neighbour's old put-put motorcycle.

As for the mum with the three kids, it all worked out. She realised she should have never come to Bangkok. Her parents owned some land and a few water buffalo, and they were prospering well enough. So she went home. Her children are grown now with children of their own. She never married again but is a proud granny.

If you are ever walking in the early morning in the old slaughterhouse, you will find her. Crippled Lady Teacher is first to school in the morning, getting some rice gruel ready for any children who come to school hungry. She is there to welcome all her children, comb any stray lice out of their hair, get them ready for the day.

Recently a lady down the alleyway died, leaving a seven-year-old daughter all alone. Before she died, she asked Crippled Lady Teacher if she would look after her daughter.

It was early morning, still dark, and "old granny", as the neighbours nicknamed her to distinguish her from a younger granny also living alone in the next-door shack, was saying her morning prayers by candlelight.

The electric had gone out two days earlier because she didn't have "the tin" to pay the bill. Nothing new, this had happened before, but this time she fell asleep, knocked over the candle and, wham bam, within minutes 15 houses were on fire in Klong Toey. The first thing to blow was a cooking gas canister, which shot like a rocket as the gas escaped. That's what burned granny so quickly and badly and charred her house to ashes. All that remained were some rusted pieces of tin roofing twisted by the heat.

Her niece -- well, almost a niece but actually her younger sister's second husband's second wife's oldest daughter -- was just coming home. Walking into the slum, the Chinese Benevolent Society emergency van raced by her with sirens blazing to rush badly burned granny to the hospital.

She had suffered something like 60% burns on her hands and arms while trying to protect herself from the flames. As they carefully stretchered her into the van, she was conscious and kept moaning "Where is my niece? Where is she? I'm thirsty".

"Almost niece" had spent a difficult night with difficult customers. Coming home to our Klong Toey slum, she saw the police, the fire trucks, black smoke rising in the sky. Her taxi couldn't come the last 100 metres because of the fire trucks and a police barricade. So she kicked off her good-looking night-time shoes and walked in. She sat down at a mom-and-pop store owned by one of granny's cronies, just metres away from the ashes of her charred shack.

The fire just missed the store, so it was open for business. The storekeep granny didn't say anything but just dusted the ashes off a chair and served "almost niece" up the usual double shot of "local" to say goodbye to a difficult personal night. With a raw egg mixed in a cup of coffee, plus a bowl of rice gruel that the local Muslim ladies' group had cooked up for the fire victims, at least she had something to eat.

But now she realised she had no home and granny was in hospital, not expected to survive. She stubbed out her cigarette and walked barefoot the 10 metres to the nearby shrine in the big tree. She lit a joss stick and touched reverently one of the sacred classical dance dresses hanging there, left by pious folk seeking spiritual favours. Some of the tree's top branches had withered as the flames shot high from the cooking gas canister.

"Almost niece" was 41 years old, missing one front tooth, her shack burned. Granny was her only relative, at least that she knew about. Now, she had no place to stay, with her clothes ruined in the fire.

She took a stick and unhooked one of the classical dresses. When she hesitated, the storekeep granny and her husband came and whispered: "No, not that one. Do take the prettiest one. The spirits will agree."

So she did, with the neighbours applauding gently. And she began to cry. Here she was, grown up but still a little abandoned slum orphan girl all over again -- all alone. She asked the storekeep granny if she could sleep there for a while. The granny and her husband said: "You can stay with us as long as you want. Forever if you wish. Yes, you might have to help us sell sweets sometimes, but only that."

And the storekeep granny held her and hugged her and let her cry and cry like she had not cried for years. And everyone said they would help rebuild her shack so that when granny got out of hospital, she would have a place to stay.

And she kicked off her pretty shoes again, sat on the mattress and began to cry and cry and cry. Couldn't stop. It had been years since her last tears. She had promised herself she was strong. But now, storekeep granny held her, hugged her. She didn't even tell her she smelled of cigarette smoke and a beer or two. She laid her down and combed her hair with her hand. After getting some rice gruel, she whispered: "It will be all right. I'll take care of you, my lost night-time daughter. This can be your new home."

And when she woke up a couple of hours later, there were some clothes for her, given by the ladies of the community. Some were fire victims who managed to salvage some of their clothes from the flames. Not fancy clothes but Klong Toey clothes -- good enough for the day. When she saw the clothing, she knew she was home. She was safe.

And the ladies had spoken to Sin Sae, the fortune teller, and the abbot at the temple. Both nodded their heads, saying it would be OK if the ladies took another dress donated to the spirits to give to "almost niece" in her time of trouble.

The girls from her workplace had heard about the fire and came to liven the place up a bit. A couple began to get a bit raunchy. They had a party to cheer up the fire victims. With lots of happy noise and music, it went on until the early morning. Great stuff.

Poor as they are, some of the fire victims' kids have mobile phones and took selfies of their own personal bravery and heroism to show everyone at school.

When "almost niece" learned that 15 schoolkids lost their school clothes, she and her friends gave all her night's earnings to buy uniforms. The kids returned proudly to school the next morning, new uniforms and selfies in hand, to tell huge tales to all their classmates about how brave they were in fighting the fire. A couple of the boys even boasted of bandages on their arms and legs.

When some children complained that they now had only one uniform and had to wash it after school every evening, "almost niece" gently scolded them: "I remember as a little girl, when I didn't have any money for school uniforms and didn't have a mum, my auntie worked and worked so that I could go to school and washed my uniform each night. My one uniform. So don't you complain."

It's been a month now since the fire, and life goes on. Old granny is recovering in the hospital. Her hospital bills are paid by government welfare. This part of the slum is an ageing community, with not many young men around, plus half of the burnt-out houses were ramshackle because the aunties and grannies looking after "grandchildren" abandoned by relatives had little money for house repairs and upkeep.

Now, however, these relatives have come home to rebuild the shacks they grew up in. "Almost niece" still stops each morning at the store for a double shot and a coffee with raw egg. She is waiting to welcome granny home from hospital.

The rainy season has definitively arrived to Thailand. Heavy, dark clouds hang over the streets of Bangkok, the back alleys flood every night and the traffic is at a complete standstill. It might be inconvenient to move around and annoying that the laundry never dries.

But at Mercy’s preschools the sound of 3000 children singing the National Anthem fills the classrooms with warmth, at our Janusz Korczak vocational school they’re reciting the Thai, English AND the Cambodian alphabet, putting a big smile on the teachers’ faces; and in Bangkok’s biggest fresh marked the migrant children are naming all the animals they know in English – making their parents forget their struggles for a moment.

Life goes on in the slums of Bangkok and at Mercy Centre we continue what we have been doing for the last 45 years.

Saturday 25 March we opened our doors to longtime friends and partners, to mark our anniversary and show our gratitude and appreciation for the pivotal support received over the years. Thank you for being our contributor of prayers, love, kindness and generosity.

But we also underline that Mercy Centre’s job is far from done.

Every week our social workers are saving children from abusive home and dangerous situation. Children that don’t have anyone that listens to them, no one that recognises their struggles and needs.

Many a time individuals, who used to be a Mercy child, reaches out to our staff, quietly and humbly asking for a hand, some support. They got off track and need some guidance. It might have been ten, fifteen years since last time but Mercy is still home.

It is not said that a child that was “saved” by our staff, got their education and upbringing at Mercy, are fully prepared and ready to take on life when they leave “the nest”. Over and over again we see that the ordeals you experience the first couple of years of your life has a very strong impact on your future. Not having a stable family situation, being surrounded by bad influence like drugs, abuse or general neglect leaves a gap in your confidence, in your well being for many years to come. To grow up in a home without healthy role models leaves a scar.

We listen to the children and then try to follow their ways. We work FOR the children, FOR the poorest of the poor – it might be a slow, quiet path to prosperity, but rather stay on the right path for a 100 years, than get off track and loose grip of our mission.

We at Mercy Centre cannot replace a blood family, but we are our own household, our own proud clan. We understand each other. Don’t have to say much when you come here, your 100 brothers and sisters “gets you”.